


Curiosity Turned the Stiles

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [61]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Peter Hale, Bottom Sheriff Stilinski, Come Eating, Dark Derek Hale, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Facials, Father/Son Incest, Felching, First Time, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, Incest, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Sex Toys, Top Peter Hale, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: After Stiles overhears talk of alpha werewolves transforming humans into omegas with just their semen, he sneaks into a werewolf bar to investigate and meets a man named Derek Hale. Derek has plans for Stiles, and none of them are good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bsgbsm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bsgbsm/gifts), [Camellia_Hale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camellia_Hale/gifts).



> As always with this series, don't judge me for the depravity I have written…

Stiles shouldn't be here.

His friends would tell him just that if they knew. His dad would too, and yet Stiles stands across the street from a werewolf bar on the bad side of town, partially hidden in the shadows. He's been here for some time now, just watching werewolves come and go as he builds up the nerve to go inside. It's incredibly foolish, but Stiles just can't tamp down his curiosity. His dad did always say that his curiosity would get him into major trouble one day, and apparently that day is going to be today.

Werewolves are dangerous. Usually, humans stay clear of them and the werewolves don't kick up a fuss, but there are stories. Stiles overheard a classmate at school telling one to their friend.

Apparently, a single drop of an alpha werewolf's seed is capable of turning a regular human into an omega—whatever that means. His classmate either hadn't known or hadn't said, but from the look on their face, they must have thought of something unsavoury and scary. Well, Stiles is here to find out, idiot that he is. It's purely for research purposes, he swears, just to scratch the itch that can only be scratched by _knowing_. By getting answers once and for all.

Of course, he needs to get himself to move first.

He keeps watching the bar as someone walks out of the swinging door that serves as its front entrance—a man around six feet tall with dirty-blonde hair and a predilection for leather. It seems that all werewolves like to wear leather to some degree. The ones who frequent this establishment do, anyway. Stiles has seen maybe two dozen people in the time he's been standing across the street, mostly men, and every single one of them at least wore a leather jacket. It's usually black, but not always. There were a few who wore leather trousers too.

One memorable bear of a man had on leather trousers, a leather harness and nothing else, his chest, beer gut and back so hairy that, from Stiles' distance, it looked like he was actually wearing a sweater made of coarse wool. Stiles thought it was pretty gross, but the smaller man who'd hung from the bear's arm didn't seem to think so. He'd looked up at the bear's face with arousal and something that could only be called adoration. After they vanished on the bear's motorbike, Stiles had thought to each their own. He wasn't going to judge.

Now, Stiles finally decides to get moving before he can talk himself out of it. He dashes across the road and right up to the entrance to the bar. He takes a deep breath, pushes the door open and steps inside.

Right away his nose is assaulted by various scents—smoke from cigars and cigarettes, booze, the musk of male sweat and even a hint of sex. This is clearly not a reputable establishment, but because of its shady location, Stiles hadn't really expected it to be.

Before any of the werewolves in the place can question his presence, Stiles scurries between tables and goes right up to the bar. He needs a drink in his hand if he wants to avoid looking too conspicuous, so he hopes that a place like this won't ID him. It's probably a lost cause because he sticks out like a sore thumb here anyway, all young and innocent, but it's worth a shot. When he reaches the bar, Stiles takes an empty stool and waits for the bartender to come around.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks, sliding over in a leather vest. He tucks a brown curl behind his ear before resting his forearms on the smooth wood, biceps bulging obscenely as he looks Stiles up and down. His suspicious blue eyes flash an unnatural red colour. Unnatural for Stiles, anyway. He isn't used to seeing a werewolf's true eyes in his day-to-day life, but from stories, he knows that the bartender must be an alpha. Only they have eyes such a shocking shade of red.

"Whatever's on tap," Stiles replies, faking confidence.

The bartender stares at him for a few seconds longer before his eyes go back to blue and he leaves to get Stiles' drink. When he returns and slams the surprisingly clean glass down on the bar in front of Stiles, some of the frothy amber liquid sloshes over the rim.

"Enjoy," the alpha says, his tone condescending. He must have correctly guessed that Stiles is way out of his element.

"Thanks," the human responds in a quiet murmur.

With a sneer, the bartender turns away to serve another patron. Left with his thoughts, Stiles picks up his beer, turns on his stool and surveys the large open room for anything of interest. It's difficult to see because the place is so dimly lit, but Stiles manages.

It's a sea of leather, smoke, tanned skin and body hair. Some alphas are clustered around tables just shooting the shit with each other, whilst others are engrossed in games of poker, intense expressions of concentration on their faces. Stiles watches them for a while, long enough to deduce that they're not playing for money. Just what they _are_ playing for eludes him, though, and before he can even think of sneaking closer to get a better look, someone appears at his side so suddenly that it's like they just popped out of thin air.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?" the sneaky man enquires, sitting down on the stool next to Stiles.

Stiles turns to him and leans back warily. The man seems to be at least forty. His hair is short and brown, he has stubble along his jaw, his chest is muscular and his deep blue eyes promise danger.

"Uhh…" Stiles gapes, the hairs all over his body standing on end.

"My name's Peter," the man drawls, walking his index and middle fingers up Stiles' arm. He never once breaks eye contact, making Stiles feel like prey. Peter definitely wants to eat him.

"T-that's nice," Stiles says lamely. He's too busy trying to think up a way to escape and having little success. The bar is packed, and maybe it's prejudice or intuition or something else entirely, but something tells Stiles that he shouldn't expect anyone to intervene if Peter tries to take him somewhere more private. He really, _really_ doesn't want that, but how would he get out of it? Werewolves are notoriously strong, but even they weren't, Peter is still built from solid muscle. Stiles wouldn't stand a chance.

Just when he has the awful thought that he's fucked whether he likes it or not—and in both senses of the word—another man walks up to them and taps Peter on his shoulder.

Peter scowls at him. "What, nephew? Can't you see I'm busy here?"

Nephew? Stiles' dread increases. Great, just what he needs. More crazy men around him.

"Looks to me like he isn't interested in going with you," the new man tells his uncle with a disapproving frown.

"Oh please!" Peter laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard all year. "Everyone wants me."

The new man glances at Stiles, and Stiles is blown away by how handsome he is. Peter is handsome too, but it's in a creepy way. This new man is actually beautiful, with his neatly trimmed beard, hazel eyes and blade-like nose. He has an air of mystery about him, but it doesn't set off warning bells in Stiles' head. It just ramps up his curiosity.

"Do you want to have sex with my uncle?" the man questions, arching an expressive eyebrow.

Stiles feels queazy at the mere thought. "No!" he denies vehemently.

The man smirks at Peter. "See? I told you. Now leave. You're making him uncomfortable."

Peter scoffs at Stiles. "What a shame. I would've had your eyes rolling back in your head before you knew what hit you."

"Leave, uncle," the dark-haired man commands, his eyes flashing red. Another alpha, then.

Grumbling, Peter gets up from his stool, casts one last longing look Stiles' way and then makes his retreat. This leaves Stiles alone with the dark-haired man. He has more time to look, so he does with as much subtlety as he can muster. Stiles guesses that the man is around the same height as him and maybe in his mid-twenties. He wears a red henley with a V-neck that teases a hairy chest, a pair of dark-blue jeans and a pair of clean, black boots. Completing the outfit is a black leather jacket. No surprise there.

"I'm sorry about him," the man says, taking the stool his uncle just vacated.

"It's okay." It isn't really, but Stiles feels the need to assuage any guilt the werewolf feels.

"I'm Derek. I haven't seen you around here before. It's dangerous for a human to come into a werewolf bar all by himself, you know. My uncle is just one example of why."

"I'm learning that. I'm okay, though. I'm safe with you, right?" Stiles doesn't know why he says that, but the same instinct that told him he was screwed if Peter actually tried anything tells him now that Derek won't hurt him.

"Sure, kid. Stick with me. I'll protect you from the bad men." Derek winks.

Stiles is sure he's blushing. Damnit. "W-will do," he stammers. He puts his beer down when his arm starts to ache from holding it for so long.

For a few minutes, he chats with Derek and gradually begins to relax. No one else attempts to approach them, and anyone who gets too close is warned away by a quick glare from Derek. It's obvious that the other patrons of the bar are either very fearful of Derek or they hold him in high esteem. Stiles chooses to believe that it's the latter.

Eventually, the bartender comes over and Derek gestures for him to lean in so that he can whisper in his ear.

"On it," the bartender says when Derek is done. He goes to the other end of the bar, and that's as much as Stiles sees before Derek gets his attention again.

"Sorry about that," the alpha says. "I was just warning him about my uncle. Wouldn't want a bar fight to break out or something if he got his panties in a bunch over your rejection."

"Has that happened before?" Stiles asks hesitantly.

"Once or twice. He's got a big ego."

"I noticed. He's everyone's type, remember?" Stiles jokes.

"Yeah, I remember. Cocky bastard. Sometimes I hate that I'm related to him."

"I won't hold it against you."

Derek chuckles. "Thanks."

"No problemo."

Their eyes lock, and for a moment Stiles could swear that Derek is thinking about kissing him. But then the moment passes and Derek looks away, breaking the tension that only Stiles must have felt. He was just imagining it, hoping for something that wasn't there. He hasn't ever been kissed before, so how cool would it have been if his first kiss was with a man as sexy as Derek? But then he doubts that anyone would believe him if he told them, so it doesn't really matter in the end.

"D'you wanna play some pool? There's a table free," Derek suggests after a few seconds.

"There are pool tables here?" Stiles sits up straighter and spots a space devoid of regular tables on the left side of the bar. Sure enough, there are two pool tables positioned there, which he hadn't noticed before because he was so focused on the people.

"Yup. So how 'bout it?"

"I don't really know how to play," Stiles admits.

"That's okay." Derek grins, his front teeth reminding Stiles of a rabbit. "I can teach you."

Stiles' embarrassment flees, replaced by excitement. "Really?" He's already imagining all the TV and movie scenes he's watched in which one person teaches a skill to another and things get all steamy and intimate.

"Really," Derek confirms, still grinning.

"Then sure, I'd love to!"

When Derek gets up from his stool and holds out his hand, Stiles reconsiders his earlier assessment—maybe Derek _does_ feel some attraction to him.

Huh.

Stiles puts his hand in Derek's and feels like even more of a naive schoolboy when he thinks about how right it seems to have Derek's fingers interlocking with his. Stupid thoughts, but he seems incapable of getting rid of them. They're persistent and will only end in disaster for Stiles, maybe outright humiliation if he were to overstep his bounds without noticing and Derek rebuffed him right in front of everybody. He'll just have to make extra sure that he doesn't do anything like that. He'll let Derek make the first move if anything is to happen between them. He prays it does. He'd spread his legs here and now if Derek requested it, and he's never considered himself an exhibitionist.

"Don't forget your beer," Derek reminds him before they leave the bar area.

"Oh, right!"

Stiles grabs the glass with his free hand and brings it with him to the pool table. A few other werewolves are approaching the table at the same time, but when they see Derek, they back off right away without any hint of hostility.

Yeah, they definitely respect Derek, which makes Stiles feel better about being with him.

Stiles vaguely knows a few of the rules of pool, but for the most part he wasn't lying when he said he was clueless. Derek is patient in guiding him through their first game, though, and Stiles ends up enjoying himself even when he gets absolutely destroyed. As Derek sets up for the next match, Stiles starts to sip from his beer and at first hates the taste of it. He has snuck into his dad's liquor cabinet a time or two when he was younger and hasn't really acquired a taste for alcohol yet, but he keeps drinking because he wants to impress Derek.

The next game goes much the same. Stiles loses, but he's proud that he manages to pocket a few of the balls himself this time.

Derek sets the base of his cue on the floor and rests his palms on the other end of it. "You want to go again?"

"Yeah, I think I've got one more round in me," Stiles answers. He'll keep going as long as Derek wants to or the bar closes, whichever comes sooner. His dad is working tonight and won't know if Stiles doesn't get home until the early hours of the morning, so he shouldn't get in trouble for it.

"I'll leave you to set up while I get a drink, then," Derek says, placing his cue on the edge of the pool table. "D'you want a refill?"

Stiles looks at his glass and is amazed to find it empty. He hadn't realised he drank that much, though he supposes it explains why he feels a bit giddy. "Sure. Why not?"

Derek takes the glass and walks back over to the bar. Stiles watches him go for a few seconds, his gaze slipping down to Derek's tight ass, and then he gets to work, doing the same thing he'd seen the werewolf do for their first two games. When he thinks he has it right, he removes the triangle, sets it aside and waits with his cue in hand.

It's not too much later when Derek comes back with two beers. He gives the frothier one to Stiles and clinks their glasses together. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Stiles echoes, drinking deep. It tastes a bit different from the first beer, but it's not any worse. In fact, as he smacks his lips, he finds that he actually likes it a bit more. Perhaps he's finally developing a taste for alcohol.

When he sets down his glass, Stiles finds Derek watching him closely. There's something in the man's eyes now, a smugness that makes Stiles cautious of him for the first time. What's that about?

"So, let's see if you can beat me this time," Derek challenges, picking his cue back up.

Shaking his head to forget about the strange look he'd seen, Stiles engages himself in the game and sips his beer between each shot he takes. He gets progressively more tipsy, but he attempts not to let himself go too far. His dad has hammered it into his head often enough since he got his license that he should never drive while under the influence, and Stiles really doesn't want to endanger lives by doing so. But even with that in mind, he can't seem to help himself. There's something about the beer that's almost addictive, and whenever he has the idea to slow down and not drink any more, he still reaches for the glass time and again.

Once the final game has concluded—with Stiles losing once more—he steps away from the pool table and almost falls over. He only doesn't because Derek grabs his arm.

"You okay?" the werewolf asks, crowding in close.

Stiles nods slowly. "Y-yeah…just got lightheaded all of a sudden. Maybe I've had a bit too much."

"Maybe. Let's go sit down."

Stiles follows docilely behind Derek as Derek walks over to the only empty table in the place, located in the corner. Stiles gets the impression that it's reserved specifically for his companion. Sitting down in one of the chairs, he takes a deep breath and looks around blearily, his state getting worse by the second. He doesn't know what's happening. Surely two beers aren't enough to make him feel like his. It's like his world is spinning and his stomach roils like he's going to vomit.

"Come here," Derek coaxes, sitting in the chair right next to him.

Stiles complies immediately, unable to even think of not doing so. He leans into Derek's side and is comforted when Derek slips his arm around his shoulders. It's like Derek's touch makes it all better.

"Just relax," the werewolf says softly, his mouth near Stiles' ear. "Just give into it."

Give into what? Fuck, Stiles can barely think straight anymore.

He stays right where he is and continues to blink to try and clear his vision. He stares at the men sitting around the table closest to him and Derek, four of them, each burly and menacing-looking. As he stares, one of them tips their head back and groans long and loud, his legs spread wide.

"Fuck, that's good," the man says, moving one of his hands beneath the table.

At first, Stiles is disgusted because he suspects that the man is jerking off right here in the bar. Sure, the bar is seedy, but it's still a public space. When he looks closer, he finally spots something he never did before: there's someone beneath the table, small and male. It's hard to see clearly because he's mostly hidden by the darkness down there, but the small man has his head between the larger man's thick thighs, bobbing it slowly back and forth.

"There's a good bitch. You want my come?" the man rasps, looking down at the guy blowing him. The other men sitting at the table laugh their amusement.

Stiles whips his head around at the other tables and is nauseated all over again when his eyes alight on more young men. Every one of them is kneeling with their heads between the legs of one of the werewolves, their mouths no doubt on the werewolves' cocks. Some of them are actively blowing the leather-clad men, while others are still, simply kneeling there with the men's cocks on their tongues like it's a perfectly normal occurrence. Hell, maybe it is for them.

Derek picks up on Stiles' distress and uses the arm he has around his shoulders to squeeze their bodies even tighter together. "What's the matter?"

It feels good, but Stiles is too panicked to enjoy it. He leaps up from his seat. "I have to go," he says, already running for the exit.

When he gets outside, the cool air that assaults him makes him realise just how sweltering it was in the bar. He spares a single moment to take a breath and then doesn't halt his progress again as his feet thunder over the ground. He runs down the street to where he parked his Jeep earlier and spares a thought for Derek, who he left so rudely behind after Derek was nothing but kind to him. He doesn't even consider going back to say he's sorry.

At his Jeep now, Stiles unlocks it, wrenches open the driver's door and gets in behind the wheel. He peels out of the space with a screech, all concerns of driving while inebriated eradicated from his mind by the shocking scene in the bar.

He just has to get out of there, consequences be damned.

As he drives, Stiles attempts to regulate his breathing into something that sounds less like a panting dog. The farther he gets from the bar, the weaker the hold his panic has on him is, until eventually he pulls into the empty driveway of his house, shuts off the engine of his Jeep and sits there breathing deep and slow. He still feels hot, though, and his brain is definitely a bit foggy. He considers himself incredibly lucky that he didn't get into an accident and swears to himself then and there that he won't get himself into another situation like he did tonight. He'll leave well enough alone.

Stiles sends up a silent apology to Derek and gets out of his Jeep. He leans against the side of it and lets the cool night air blow across his face. It's soothing and just what he needs, drying the sweat on his brow.

Once he's satisfied, Stiles enters his house and goes straight upstairs. It's late enough already, so he decides to forgo a shower until the morning and falls right into bed. He only just gathers enough will to remove his chinos and socks before he pulls the sheets up over himself, rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. He falls asleep to thoughts of Derek.

* * *

Derek Hale remains seated at his specially reserved table and smirks to himself. His plan went off without a hitch.

This bar has a system that was set up a long time ago, overseen by Derek himself. It gives each of the alpha werewolves in it a chance to secure themselves a little omega bitch to screw whenever they want. Every male patron who's a werewolf gives a sample of their semen that's then stored in a mini-fridge beneath the bar. Then, whenever a human wanders in—either because they're curious or a foolish thrill-seeker—one of the werewolves will stake their claim and give Jamie, the bartender, the signal to spike their chosen human's drink with their semen sample. It's against human law, but none of the werewolves here care at all.

This time, it was finally Derek's turn.

Until tonight, he has passed up every human who came in because none of them called out to him. But he just had to have Stiles.

His Uncle Peter was right—Stiles really is pretty. Speaking of Peter…

"Good score, nephew," the older werewolf congratulates as he sits down next to Derek. "You're welcome, by the way."

Derek arches an eyebrow at him. "For what?"

"For making you look so good!" Peter gives himself a pat on the back for his own deviousness. "Because of me, you got to sweep in like a knight in shining armour, gaining your omega's trust."

"He's not my omega yet."

"No, but he will be soon. I saw how quickly he drank his spiked beer. It was like he couldn't get enough."

"Of course he couldn't." Derek rolls his eyes. "No human can once they get their first taste."

"That's true." Peter sighs almost dreamily. "I remember when I got my first omega…those were good times. He wouldn't let me leave the house for over a week, he was always so desperate for me."

Derek wrinkles his nose, not fond of hearing about his uncle's exploits.

Peter stays lost in his memories for nearly a whole minute before he returns to the present. "You're not going after him, then?" he asks his nephew.

"Why would I?"

Peter stares like Derek is being a moron. "To claim him?"

"I could, but there's no point. He'll come find me eventually. I want him begging."

Peter throws his head back with a laugh. "Nice!" He ruffles Derek's hair, not flinching at the glare he gets. "Enjoy getting your dick wet 24/7, dear nephew."

Thankfully, Peter goes away again after that, leaving Derek in peace. He leans back in his chair and cups himself through his jeans. His cock swells at the mere thought of what's going to happen in just a day or so.

He can't wait to have Stiles in his bed, at his feet, for the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Stiles wakes up feeling strange. He's sweating a lot and his head is still as foggy as it was before he fell asleep. He's unsettled by these symptoms but eventually puts them down to him somehow still being hungover from the beers he drank last night. Speaking of last night, as soon as Stiles replays some of the events and he remembers Derek, his symptoms get worse and he's struck by such a sense of longing that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He lies there on his back and stares up at the ceiling, trying in vain to figure out what's going on with his body. His thoughts come slowly, and by the time his alarm has gone off, the only explanation he has been able to think of that sounds even remotely plausible is that he's not still hungover but is actually coming down with the flu or something.

 _Just fucking great,_ he thinks, annoyed.

Slamming the top of his alarm clock to get it to stop its ungodly screeching, Stiles rolls clumsily out of bed, trudges out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. He stares at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and doesn't like what he sees. Despite how much he's sweating, his skin is paler than usual, with a sickly pallor, and his eyes are glazed over.

Yeah, he's definitely not going to school today.

After he has relieved his bladder, Stiles exits the bathroom and descends the stairs. He has to go slowly and maintain a tight grip on the handrail to prevent his wobbly legs from giving out. It wouldn't be good to fall down the stairs and brain himself or break his neck. At the bottom, he traverses the hallway that separates the foyer from the kitchen and finds his dad with his back to him in front of the stove.

"Hey, dad," Stiles greets, leaning against the doorjamb. His voice comes out as a hoarse croak.

The sheriff turns around with a smile on his face, but it slips off when he gets a look at his son. "Are you feeling okay?" he asks, leaving the stove to move over to Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head. "Not really."

"What's wrong?" The sheriff puts the back of his hand to his son's forehead to check his temperature. "You're burning up."

"Could you cook an egg on it?" Stiles jokes. He attempts a grin, but it's probably more of a grimace.

His dad ignores him. "I'm going to call the school and tell them you won't be in today, okay?" he says, turning Stiles around and marching him back toward the stairs. He assists him in climbing them again, which Stiles is grateful for, and once he's got his son back in his bedroom, the sheriff helps him into bed and frowns worriedly down at him.

"You really don't look good, son," he sighs. "Looks like I'll be playing doctor today, huh?"

Stiles snorts. "Thanks, dad, but I think that would be illegal."

The sheriff rolls his eyes and checks Stiles' forehead again. "At least your awful sense of humour's still intact."

"I'm a riot."

"That you are. Stay here. I'm gonna call the school and then Melissa, see if she can come check you over."

Stiles hums. He's already so tired from his brief trip downstairs that he's close to falling asleep again. "If you say so, daddy-o."

As soon as Stiles' dad has left his bedroom, he's out like a light.

* * *

Stiles drifts in and out of consciousness. He vaguely recalls Melissa McCall looking him over like his dad said, but that's all. By the time he manages to keep his eyes open for more than a couple minutes, two days have flown by. He looks at his nightstand and sees a package of flu medicine next to his alarm clock. The medication must have done its job because he feels a lot better. Not a hundred percent yet, but getting there.

Risking it, Stiles pushes himself up and, when his world doesn't spin, swings his legs over the side of his bed. He sits there for a few moments, getting in touch with every part of his body to get a more conclusive idea of how he's feeling. He still doesn't feel that bad, so he stands up and walks into the bathroom. His skin is nearer its usual colour when he looks in the mirror, and he isn't sweating anymore. Figuring that he's past the worst of it, Stiles shrugs off his clothes and turns on the shower, needing to get clean. He stinks pretty badly after two whole days of being bedridden, and the cool water feels heavenly cascading down his skin.

Suddenly there comes a knock on the door. "Stiles?" his dad calls through it.

Stiles turns the shower off temporarily so that he can hear more clearly. "Yeah?"

"You feeling okay?"

"Better than I was. I think I'm almost over it."

His dad is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, Stiles can hear his relief. "Good. Come downstairs when you're done, and we'll see if you can stomach some food."

"Okay, dad!"

Once he hears footsteps on the stairs, Stiles resumes showering and washes all over twice to make sure he's as clean as can be. He grabs a towel, dries himself off and then scurries across the hall to get dressed in some fresh clothes. He opts for something comfortable, just an old T-shirt and some sweatpants.

Downstairs, Stiles joins his dad again in the kitchen and is able to make it past the doorway this time. He finds a plate of toast and a glass of water waiting for him on the island.

"See if you can keep that down," his dad instructs. "You need to start getting your strength back."

"Thanks."

His dad walks past him toward the living room and squeezes his shoulder once on the way. "Come sit with me when you've eaten. We can have a lazy day watching crappy shows."

That sounds perfect to Stiles. Because of his dad's hectic work schedule, it's not often that they get to spend quality time together nowadays, and Stiles misses it.

He hesitantly takes a few bites of his toast, and when his stomach doesn't immediately rebel, he goes through the rest of it a bit faster, eager to join his dad in the living room for some much-needed father/son bonding time. Plus, even though he's better than he was, he's still a bit weaker than usual and would really like to cuddle up to his dad's side and relax like he's a little kid again. He's not too old yet to admit that it makes him feel better every now and then.

Thinking of innocently cuddling with his dad leads Stiles' mind down an unexpected road. He zones out as he imagines cuddling with Derek instead, maybe even kneeling at his feet and nuzzling his crotch. A moan slips out of Stiles' mouth before he can stop it, the sound jarring him back to reality.

What was that about? Yeah, Derek was hot, but what the hell?

"Stiles? You okay? I don't need to get a bucket, do I?" comes his dad's voice. He must have heard the moan and interpreted it as one of pain instead of arousal. Thank fuck.

"No, it's nothing," Stiles denies. "Don't worry about it."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Quickly finishing his toast, Stiles deposits the plate in the kitchen sink and brings his glass of water with him into the living room. He takes a few sips, sets it on the coffee table and sits down next to his dad, who already has a blanket ready for him to snuggle under. Stiles does so eagerly, resting his head on his dad's shoulder as the TV plays some old cop drama that Stiles doesn't know the name of. He doesn't recognise any of the actors either.

"We'll see how you feel tomorrow, and if you're better, you can go back to school," his dad says, running his fingers through Stiles' hair.

"Sure thing, pops."

* * *

When he's back in school, Stiles goes through the day as normal. He feels like himself, but at the same time he doesn't. Something's different about him. For one thing, he's haunted by endless thoughts of sucking cock and swallowing delicious come, and that's not like him at all. Sure, he likes guys, but he's never been obsessed with thoughts of blowjobs before, let alone thinking of come as delicious. He tasted his own once, and while not terrible, delicious it was not.

That's not all, either. In all of his fantasies, it's not just anyone's cock he's sucking.

It's Derek's.

By the end of the day, Stiles is thoroughly weirded out. He can't stop thinking about it, to the point where he was called out for daydreaming in several of his classes, exasperating his teachers. He thanks his lucky stars that he didn't have Chemistry today, or else Mr. Harris would've gleefully given him detention the first chance he got. Now, it's like Stiles is being pulled in two directions. Part of him knows he should stay for lacrosse practice and wants to, but the other part insists that he go outside to the parking lot. Some instinct is telling him that it's really important he do that. So he does.

"Hey, where are you going?" Scott asks him when he suddenly does a 180 in the hall.

Stiles blanks him entirely. He walks as if in a trance, the hair on his arms standing on end because he just knows he's getting closer to the solution to all of his problems.

"Stiles!"

Not even really hearing his best friend, Stiles keeps progressing until sunlight hits his face and he reaches the edge of the parking lot. He looks around curiously, his heart racing a mile a minute, and that's when he sees him. Derek. He's here.

Stiles steps off of the sidewalk and makes his way over to the werewolf. Derek is in the back corner of the lot, leaning against the side of a flashy black car in tight clothes, a leather jacket and dark sunglasses that obscure his eyes. Stiles can still tell that Derek's attention is solely focused on him, though, and it's mutual. Stiles can't look away from Derek for anything, as he proves when he steps right in the path of an oncoming vehicle. He doesn't falter, just keeps going as the driver slams their brakes and honks their horn angrily at him.

When he finally reaches Derek, it's like everything is right in the world.

"What's happening to me?" Stiles asks, staring dreamily at Derek's pretty face.

Derek grins, showing off his bunny teeth. It sends shivers down Stiles' spine. Good shivers. "You're mine now, bitch," Derek says.

"Bitch?"

"Yup. Now get in. I'm gonna complete your transformation and show you your place."

Blinking dumbly, Stiles allows himself to be guided to the passenger side of Derek's car. He gets in, buckles himself in on autopilot and sits there quietly until Derek begins to drive away.

Stiles' eyes are still locked on the werewolf's profile. "Where are we going?"

"I already told you, bitch. We're going to your new home."

Being called 'bitch' should offend Stiles, but all it does is make him shiver again with anticipation.

"Oh." He says nothing else, the itch that's been under his skin all day calmed now that he's in Derek's presence.

It takes about twenty minutes for them to reach their destination: an almost palatial house in the middle of the preserve. Derek parks the car in front of it, gets out and helps Stiles out as well before leading him up the steps to the wrap-around porch.

"This place is huge," Stiles comments, waiting patiently as Derek unlocks the front door.

"Get used to it, because once you're inside, I'm barely gonna let you leave again," Derek tells him, shooting the teenager a feral grin over his broad shoulder.

Once they're in the foyer, Derek rips at Stiles' clothes. "Let's get a good look at you, bitch, see if you're as pretty as I thought you'd be," he murmurs, tearing the front of Stiles' T-shirt right down the middle without ceremony. The tatters slip off of his arms to the floor, and then Derek does the same with Stiles' chinos and underwear.

"Step out of your shoes."

Stiles obeys, and once his feet are bare, he's completely naked in front of Derek. His cock is half-hard and his asshole aches.

Derek hums, pleased, and squeezes the growing bulge in his jeans as he makes a circuit around Stiles. "Just as I thought. You'll be an excellent bitch."

"Thank you," Stiles says, blushing.

Face-to-face again, Derek looks at him sternly, his eyes glowing red. "Thank you, what?"

Stiles takes a moment to think. "Thank you…Alpha?"

"Better. You'll always call me that from now on. Got it?"

"Yes, Alpha."

"Come on. We're going upstairs so I can get familiar with you and you can get what I'm sure you've been dying for all day."

Derek grabs Stiles' hand and brings him over to the staircase in the middle of the foyer. They ascend it, walk down the hall to the left and enter the door at the end. This must be the master bedroom, Stiles muses, taking in how spacious the room is. The main feature is the king-size canopy bed pushed up against the right wall. The silk sheets are as red as Derek's eyes. Stiles wants to know what they feel like sliding over his bare skin.

Derek releases Stiles' wrist once the door is firmly shut behind them. He makes fast work of getting out of his own clothes, and Stiles stares in awe.

The werewolf's body is masculine perfection. His pecs are big and covered in a field of dark hair that tapers into a thin trail running down the centre of his abs. The trail goes past his navel and meets his untamed pubes, which surround a cock that's thick and at least nine inches long. Stiles salivates just looking at it, especially when Derek moves toward him and he gets a look at the full, heavy balls that swing back and forth between his hairy thighs with every step.

Derek chuckles and strokes himself slowly. "Like what you see, bitch?"

"Yeah…fuck, you're so sexy, Alpha."

"You wanna taste me?"

The question nearly makes Stiles orgasm then and there.

"I can smell you," Derek growls, his pupils dilating. "You're getting wet for me."

Stiles doesn't understand what his Alpha means until Derek walks behind him and shoves his hand between Stiles' ass cheeks. Bending over immediately to provide his Alpha with easier access, Stiles clues into what's happening when he feels an odd wetness leaking from his hole. It's nothing unpleasant. It's viscous, and from the constant growling he can hear behind him, it must turn Derek on just as much as the sight of Derek's cock turned Stiles on. The fluid keeps coming from his hole, dripping down the backs of his thighs.

"Can't wait to plug you up with my knot," Derek whispers. He uses the weird fluid to slick up a finger and without warning slides it up to the last knuckle in Stiles' ass.

Stiles cries out, not from pain but from pleasure. His body opens right up for its new owner.

"But before that, let's get you fed, hmm?" Derek says, withdrawing his finger and moving back in front of Stiles. He pulls the boy toward the bed, sits down on the end and gestures for Stiles to get down on his knees between his legs.

This is just like the fantasy Stiles had the previous day, and he can't believe that it's about to come true. All he's thinking about is getting his mouth on Derek's cock, tasting him, drinking him down. All his other thoughts and worries have deserted him, possibly for good. He doesn't think of his dad. He doesn't think of Scott. He doesn't think of school or the responsibilities he has. His whole world has narrowed down to what's inside this bedroom, and that's the way he wants things to stay.

"Open wide, bitch," Derek orders. He pulls back his foreskin and aims the exposed head of his cock at Stiles' mouth.

Parting his lips willingly, Stiles leans forward and seals his mouth around his Alpha's thick shaft. The bitter taste of pre-come bursts across his tongue right away, making him moan. Without conscious thought, just following instinct, Stiles closes his eyes and begins to bob his head back and forth, taking another inch of Derek's cock every few seconds until the head bumps against the back of his throat. He gags once and then keeps going, his throat opening right up to welcome Derek's cock like it belongs there. It does, Stiles thinks. He'd gladly stay right there with his mouth on Derek's cock for the rest of his life, consuming nothing but his Alpha's seed.

It's his place, just like Derek said it was. He's grateful to his Alpha for showing it to him, for fulfilling him so completely like this.

As if he knows what's going through Stiles' head, Derek fists his hair and yanks him the rest of the way onto his cock. Stiles ends up unbalanced with his nose in Derek's pubes, breathing in the raw musk embedded in the coarse hairs. The scent has more slick leaking from his ass.

"I'm gonna fuck your face now, bitch," Derek tells him, looking down at him heatedly. "Fuck my come down your throat."

All Stiles can do is moan repeatedly as Derek carries out his promise. He can barely breathe, but he doesn't even raise a finger to stop him. This is right.

"Fuck, you were worth the wait!" Derek grits out, his hirsute skin beginning to glisten with a fine sheen of sweat. "I'm getting close!"

Stiles opens his eyes and watches Derek as he comes undone. The werewolf throws his head back with a howl, yanks Stiles forward onto his cock one last time and then orgasms. His cock jerks wildly on Stiles' tongue as he pumps down his throat. Stiles is a bit disappointed that he didn't get to really taste his Alpha's release this time, but this is what his Alpha wanted and it's not up to him to suggest otherwise. In the end, he's content enough swallowing furiously because his belly ends up warm and full anyway. It's just cutting out the middle man.

"You've got a wicked mouth," Derek compliments, keeping his cock down Stiles' throat.

Stiles stares reverently up at his Alpha, his eyes doe-like and adoring because the werewolf looks gorgeous like this, his pretty yet rugged face flushed and his hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

"Now I'm gonna fuck your ass." Derek shoves Stiles backward, his cock slipping out of Stiles' mouth. It remains hard and shiny with spit. He stands up, grabs his bitch under his arms and tosses him onto his back on the bed before crawling on top of him. "Want to know one of the best perks of me being a werewolf, at least in my opinion? It'll probably be yours too, soon."

Stiles nods slowly, staring up at his Alpha's face. He reaches up and pets Derek's chest, running his fingers through his chest hair.

"My refractory period is so short, it's practically non-existent. Know what that means?"

Stiles doesn't reply, just keeps touching his Alpha.

"It means that whenever I'm not working, I'm gonna be fucking you. I'm gonna pump so much come in you that your belly's gonna be swollen and round twenty-four-seven. And when you go into heat, well…"

The words elicit a response from Stiles. His body jolts atop the sheets and he moans louder than ever, imagining what his Alpha just described. His asshole clenches around nothing, desperate for something to fill it. For Derek's massive cock to fill it.

"Knew you'd be a needy little bitch for me," Derek says softly. He nuzzles Stiles' cheek almost affectionately.

"Alpha…" Stiles whines, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist.

Derek chuckles darkly. "You want me? Want my come dripping out of your bitch hole?"

"Alpha, please…need you."

"Relax. I'll keep you full."

True to his word, Derek hikes Stiles' legs up higher and watches Stiles' reaction as he slides inside of him for the first time, stealing the teenager's virginity. Stiles cries out as he's stretched to obscene levels, pain emanating from his unprepared asshole. He clutches Derek's big biceps as the werewolf just keeps going without a care for him, not stopping until he's buried inside to the hilt and Stiles can feel Derek's weighty balls resting against the tops of his ass cheeks. Derek doesn't stop for long, either. He grants his bitch a mere ten seconds or so to get used to being filled up so much, and then he begins to fuck him brutally.

Stiles holds on for the ride. The pain continues, and he takes it because his Alpha wants him to. It's his duty.

After a while, it gets a bit better, and better, and then bright sparks of pleasure shoot up Stiles' spine after Derek changes the angle of his thrusts and hits his prostate dead-on. Come spurts from his cock between their stomachs, which only spurs Derek to fuck him harder. The werewolf's growls are more animalistic than before, echoing around the bedroom, and sweat drips from his brow. It hits Stiles' face, but he doesn't care. He actually licks his lips when one salty drop lands on them.

Eventually, it gets more difficult for Stiles to take all of Derek's cock. Sex-drunk as he is, he can't figure out the reason on his own. It's not until Derek whispers more filth about knotting him that he clues into what's occurring, and he pushes out with his ass to make it easier for his Alpha to get the rapidly engorging flesh inside. He craves it, feels like he'll die were Derek to deny him this. He simply must experience what it's like, and he knows that being tied together with his Alpha and welcoming his thick seed into his body is the only thing that will slake the desire that has plagued him since he visited the werewolf bar three nights ago.

"Get ready, bitch. Here it comes!" Derek warns, just before he fucks his massive knot inside one last time.

Both of them have their second orgasms at the same time. Stiles' causes him to black out, and when he comes to, he's lying on his side with his Alpha spooning him. They're still knotted.

"How was that, bitch?" Derek asks him, breath ruffling the short hairs on the back of Stiles' neck.

"Amazing, Alpha." Stiles sighs with bone-deep contentment. "When can we do it again?"

"As soon as my knot's gone down. I meant what I said—I'm gonna fuck you all the time. You're too pretty not to."

"Thank you, Alpha. I can't wait."

"You're welcome, bitch. Now shut it and take a nap. You'll need the energy, believe me." Derek hums as though reconsidering something. "Although I guess I don't have an issue with you being asleep next time either."

Stiles' spent cock twitches with interest against the inside of his thigh. He imagines waking up to his Alpha already fucking him, and that's all the incentive he needs to close his eyes and allow his tiredness to overcome him.

* * *

It's a couple weeks later when Derek hears someone pounding on his door on Saturday afternoon. He groans, gets up and slips on a pair of sweatpants before exiting the bedroom, leaving his bitch to sleep off their latest round of vigorous sex. Downstairs, he looks through the peephole on his door and sighs when he sees the slightly distorted face of the sheriff awaiting him on the other side.

"This should be good," he mumbles. Bracing himself, he unlocks and opens the door.

"Derek Hale?" the sheriff questions right away, clearly upset.

"That's me." Derek smirks. "How can I help you?"

"My son has been missing for two weeks now, and the last person to see him saw him getting into your car." The sheriff glares. "Care to explain that?"

Derek shrugs insouciantly. "Not really."

The sheriff continues to glare for a few more moments, his nostrils flaring, before he seems to war with himself about what to do next. In the end, he must decide to follow his fatherly instincts instead of his professional ones, because he barges past Derek without warning and shouts Stiles' name. Derek could stop him without exerting much effort at all, but he doesn't bother. This could be fun.

"He's upstairs," he says, basically taunting the man at this point. He knows what Stiles' dad doesn't yet, that his son is already lost to him forever.

When the sheriff races up the staircase, Derek follows him at a more sedate pace and reenters his bedroom to find the older man attempting to drag Stiles out of the bed. To Derek's immense pleasure, Stiles is fighting him with everything he's got.

"Stiles, what's gotten into you?!" the sheriff demands. "No one's been able to find you for two weeks! You've had me worried sick!"

"I don't care!" Stiles screams back. He finds Derek over his dad's shoulder, and his gaze begs the werewolf to step in and save him from being taken. "Alpha!"

"Alright, sheriff, that's enough," Derek says. He grabs the sheriff's shoulder, pulls him away from his son and positions himself between them. "It's time for you to leave. Stiles doesn't want to go with you."

Stiles' dad breathes heavily and looks at Derek with pure hatred and fury. His hand rests on the gun on his belt. "What've done to him?"

"I think we both know the answer to that." Derek grins, showing off teeth that are not entirely human.

"I should kill you."

"You could." Derek nods along. "But then where would that leave your son?"

"Fine. I'll arrest you instead."

"Again, you could, but how would you get whatever charges you try to pin on me to stick?"

The sheriff frowns. "What? You kidnapped my son."

"Did I? Did anyone witness this…kidnapping? Did the person who saw Stiles getting into my car say it looked like Stiles didn't want to come with me?"

The frown gets more pronounced, and the sheriff's body tenses up. "No," he admits. "But there's still that bar he met you in. You slipped him your semen then, didn't you?"

"I _gave_ it to him there, yes, but can you prove that Stiles didn't want it? That he didn't beg me to turn him into my bitch?"

Derek has the sheriff beaten. He knows it. There's nothing the older man can do.

"You know the bond between an omega and their Alpha—if you kill me, Stiles will die too when he can't get any more of my come," Derek recaps. "If you arrest me, you still run the risk of Stiles dying while I'm in one of your little holding cells, unable to keep him well fed. The charges also won't stick, because you have no witnesses and Stiles is eighteen. Everyone at the bar will back me up and tell everyone else what happened. They'll say that Stiles came up to me, asked me if I was interested in him, and I said yes. Everyone will corroborate that version of events, because that's the truth."

It isn't. From the look on his face, the sheriff knows it's a lie too, but there's nothing he can do to prove it. "Stiles?" Derek calls, holding out a hand.

"Yes, Alpha?" Stiles responds, slipping from the bed to stand at Derek's side without a stitch of clothing on.

Maintaining eye contact with the sheriff, Derek asks his bitch a series of questions. "Did I give you my come without your explicit permission?"

"No, Alpha."

"Did you want it?"

"Yes, Alpha. So badly."

"Are you happy here, constantly full of my seed at both ends?"

Stiles moans quietly, causing the sheriff's face to go green. "So happy, Alpha. I love it."

"Do you love _me_?"

Stiles moves closer and starts to rub himself against Derek's side. "Love you so much. My Alpha…"

Satisfied, Derek advances on Stiles' dad. He puts a hand on the centre of his chest and pushes him out of the bedroom. "It's time for you to leave now. You'll never disturb us again. If you try anything, you've been warned. I'm sure you know that werewolves don't play by human rules or obey human laws, so if you come for me, or for the bar or anyone who frequents it…"

Leaving the threat unfinished, Derek shepherds the crestfallen sheriff back down to the ground floor and out the front door.

"Nice of you to stop by," he says sardonically. "I'm going to go feed your son a fresh load now. I'll think of you when I come. See you again never."

Slamming the door in Stiles' dad's face, Derek immediately locks it and waits for the sound of the sheriff driving away. It doesn't take long, but he doesn't expect that this will be the end of it. Stiles' dad obviously loves his son more than anything, and he'll try again to get him back. Derek will be ready for it, and he'll do whatever it takes to ensure that Stiles stays his. He's not giving up his bitch's welcoming, wet hole or insatiable appetite for come for anything.

Turning back to the staircase, Derek spots Stiles waiting at the top of it, his cock hard and lust in his eyes. Derek pushes down his sweatpants and curls a finger at his bitch, silently ordering him to come downstairs to him. Once Stiles is in front of him, Derek pushes him down to his knees and guides his hardening cock to the omega's waiting mouth.

"Suck," he commands.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek sits in his usual booth in the bar and observes the other patrons like he's a king on his throne and the patrons are his subjects. He turns his head slowly from right to left, taking in every detail, noting the presence of every person. All the Alpha werewolves present tonight are having the time of their lives drinking, playing pool, laughing with friends or playing rounds of poker, while the human omegas suckle on their Alpha's cocks like the good bitches they are. It's exactly like any other Friday night at the bar, boisterous and noisy, and Derek wouldn't change a thing about it. It's home.

As for him, he's left alone by everyone else. He has never liked to be disturbed when he's here, and that's been especially true for the past month—ever since he finally got a bitch of his own.

Speaking of…

Derek looks down between his legs when he feels something nudging the crotch of his jeans. Stiles, the needy thing, is down there on his knees, the majority of his pale skin on display under the dim lighting of the bar. The only thing that prevents him from being completely naked are the pretty lace panties that Derek insists he wears on the rare occasions he's allowed out of the house. The blood-red lace looks perfect against his pale skin, especially now that Derek has him shaved completely smooth from the neck down.

Stiles looks imploringly up at Derek, apparently wanting another load even though Derek fucked his mouth before they left for the bar just an hour ago.

"Always so desperate for it, aren't you, bitch?" Derek says, smirking.

Stiles stops nuzzling Derek's crotch long enough to respond with a husky, "Yes, Alpha," and then he's right back to it.

"You're lucky I like your mouth so much." Derek drapes his arms across the back of the booth and spreads his legs wider. "Take me out, bitch."

Stiles gets to work with an endearing level of alacrity. He pops the button of Derek's jeans and yanks down the zipper, the sound of the teeth separating somehow loud in Derek's ears even with the ruckus going on around him. Once that's done, Stiles moves aside the flaps of fabric, revealing coarse pubes, and pulls out the Alpha's soft cock and weighty balls. He handles them gently, treating them with the reverence they deserve. He licks his lips and nuzzles the hairy sack, breathing in the scents of masculine musk and sweat.

"Smell good, bitch?" Derek asks, already knowing the answer.

" _So good_ , Alpha," Stiles moans.

"Is it making you wet?"

"Uh-huh. My panties are already soaked for you, Alpha."

Derek's cock starts to fill with blood, and soon enough it stands up big and proud at its full length of nine-and-a-half inches, his foreskin still partially covering the head. As a bead of pre-come forms at the slit, Stiles licks up the underside of the shaft and collects the bead on his tongue before it can run down and get lost in Derek's pubes. He slips his tongue beneath Derek's foreskin and then lowers his head, taking the Alpha into his throat.

"There's a good bitch," Derek compliments, tipping his head back. "You'll have to work for it if you want my seed."

Stiles doesn't seem to have any problem with this. He bobs his head up and down at a fast pace, doing everything in his power to get Derek to fill his belly with come. It's incredibly effective, and before Derek knows it, his orgasm is impending. Unfortunately, before it can happen, someone dares to approach the booth and demand his attention.

Reluctantly shoving Stiles off of his cock, Derek lowers his head again and shoots daggers at the interloper.

"Don't look at me like that, Nephew," his Uncle Peter says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're interrupting," Derek growls, ignoring Stiles as he whimpers his disappointment.

"I can see that." Peter's gaze flicks down to Derek's cock, still hard and shiny with Stiles' spit.

Derek doesn't conceal it. He has nothing to be ashamed of. "Tell me why before I rip your throat out," he commands, flashing his eyes red.

Peter snorts, flops down next to Derek in the booth and puts an arm around Derek's shoulders, not at all affected by the display of dominance. Still, he answers. "His dad's parked across the street again," he says, waving his other hand in Stiles' direction.

"Oh." Derek grits his teeth.

This has been a regular occurrence ever since the Sheriff discovered that Derek had acquired Stiles as his bitch. It's annoying, honestly. The Sheriff is still powerless to do anything about the loss of his son, at least legally speaking, but that doesn't mean the human man won't get reckless at some point. Derek can't rule out the possibility of the Sheriff casting aside his moral code and his human laws and attacking Derek directly, even if it means that his son is hurt in the process. He has heard of similar cases in the past, in which the human party thought it was better that their loved one was dead instead of being some nasty werewolf's omega.

No, Derek can't have that happen to him and his bitch. He loves using Stiles and won't give him up.

But how to take care of the Sheriff? Derek has been racking his brain all month for a solution, and short of catching the stupid human unaware and snapping his neck, he can't think of one. For once, though, it seems that Peter has actually decided to be useful, as Derek finds out when his uncle opens his mouth again.

"I can take care of him for you, if you want," he suggests, watching as Stiles continues to eye his nephew's big cock.

Derek scoffs and keeps his bitch away from the object of his desire by holding a foot to the centre of his chest. "And how would you do that?" he asks his uncle, not generous enough to believe that the older man could come up with something when he himself couldn't.

"I've been watching him watch you for a couple weeks," Peter reveals. "And I have to admit that the Sheriff is quite a handsome man."

"Get to the point, Uncle."

Of course, even when he's being useful, Peter still has to be infuriating. Without asking for permission, he grabs Derek's cock and starts to stroke it, further taunting Stiles with what he can't have. Once he gets over his shock, Derek has half a mind to murder his uncle right there in the bar, but he resists, even as his nails turn into claws. He grudgingly has to admit—if only to himself—that his uncle's firm grip feels good, and he _does_ get a perverse kind of amusement out of how Stiles whimpers piteously and nearly starts to cry. All of that is enough for him to allow his uncle to keep stroking him.

"The point is," Peter says eventually, tightening his grip slightly, "how about I take the Sheriff for myself? That way, he gets off your back and I have a brand-new bitch to play with."

Derek takes a moment to think about it and has to admit it could work. "You'd be okay with that?"

"Yes. Like I said, he's a handsome man, and I'm curious to see what he'd look like tied to my bed."

Derek stifles a groan when Peter begins to pay special attention to his weeping slit, smearing his copious pre-come around the head. "Do it," he says huskily.

"Excellent. I'll make him mine as soon as possible."

"How?"

"I'll figure it out."

Derek expects Peter to vanish back into the crowd then, but he doesn't. Peter remains sitting next to him, touching him. Derek actually doesn't mind.

"You know, you've got a very nice cock, Nephew," Peter compliments. "I think it's actually even bigger than your Dad's."

Derek arches an eyebrow at him. "You know what my Dad's cock looked like?"

Peter nods and smirks. "Hey, before we both got our first omegas, how'd you think we used to fulfil our sexual urges?"

"With your own Alpha brother?"

Peter chuckles and looks heatedly into Derek's eyes. "Hey, I'm your Uncle and you're letting me touch you, aren't you? Naughty boy."

This is what finally has Derek ending things. He bats away Peter's hand and tucks himself back into his jeans. It's a struggle because he's still erect, but he is able to do the zipper back up without damaging anything valuable. When Stiles sees his Alpha's cock disappear again, he really does start crying, tears silently running down his cheeks.

"Shh, bitch. I'll give you a hard fucking when we get back home to make up for it, okay?" Derek says, ruffling Stiles' hair.

Peter pouts as Derek stands up. "You're leaving already?"

"Yes." Derek glares down at the older man. "I'm getting away from you."

Peter harrumphs. "Fine. But if you want to mess around more another time, I won't say no." He waggles his eyebrows. "Trust me when I say that there's nothing quite like the thrill of fucking another Alpha. The taboo makes it absolutely delicious."

"Not on your life."

"Oh, I don't know…I think you'll come around." Peter gets a devious glint in his eyes, which Derek knows well by now means terrible things. "When I've got my new bitch, we could all play together."

Derek shakes his head, forces Stiles to get up too and marches him away from the booth. After they get outside into the cold night air, he walks his bitch to his Camaro and remains steadfast in his conviction that he and Peter are never engaging in that sort of thing ever again. He swears it. Even if part of him _is_ kind of curious about what it would be like, both to be fucked by his uncle and to fuck him in return…especially the latter part—to slide his massive cock inside of Uncle Peter's tight little asshole and finally wipe that smug expression off of his stupid face.

No! That's not going to happen, he tells that small voice in the back of his mind.

Not ever.

* * *

Peter has plenty of time on his hands, seeing how he doesn't have a job. He has no need for one, not with all the zeros in his bank account. He lives a life of leisure, and that life is going to get even better and more indulgent when he finally accomplishes his task of making Sheriff Stilinski into his personal bitch. With his nephew having agreed to his plan, Peter has spent nearly every waking hour tailing the Sheriff everywhere he goes and spying through the windows of his house at night. He watched for hours as the Sheriff sat despondently on his living room sofa with a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and a glass tumbler in his hand.

It was quite a sad sight, really, almost enough to make Peter feel sorry for him.

But not quite.

The Sheriff won't have a reason to be sad for much longer anyway, not when he's Peter's bitch and all he can think about is making his Alpha happy.

Now, Peter sneaks across John Stilinski's back yard and approaches the back door of his house. The Sheriff is at the station right now, so no one's home to hear as he uses Stiles' old set of keys to unlock the door. He got them courtesy of his nephew—Stiles has no use for them anymore, and soon enough, John Stilinski will have no use for his own keys either.

With his heart beating fast out of anticipation, Peter shuts the door behind him, walks into the living room and straight over to the liquor cabinet. He searches the shelves for John's preferred whiskey and is glad when he finds a mostly full bottle near the bottom. He takes it out, carries it upstairs with him to John's bedroom and sets it down on the nightstand while he strips out of all of his clothes.

Once he's naked, he lies down on John's bed and starts to touch himself. He pinches and twists his nipples for a while, making his toes curl, and then goes further south, sliding his palm down his toned abs until he gets to his cock. He's already half-mast, and a few slow, torturous strokes is all it takes for him to become fully erect. Humming quietly to himself, Peter turns his head to the side, sticks his nose in John's pillow and breaths in deeply. He only gets more turned on when the spicy scent of the Sheriff fills his nostrils. It's perfect, and Peter can't wait to have John in his own bed so that his scent can soak in there too.

Jerking himself off with more purpose now, Peter uses his other hand to pick up the whiskey. He holds it between his ribs and bicep while he unscrews the cap with his free hand. He has to bend his elbow and wrist a bit awkwardly, but he's dexterous enough to get the bottle open without having to stop masturbating.

"Just you wait," Peter murmurs, fucking up into his own fist now. "Soon you'll be mine…"

The thought of fucking his new bitch has all of Peter's hard-won stamina flying out the window. His orgasm comes on rapidly—so rapidly that he almost doesn't have time to switch positions. He has to scramble up onto his knees to make it in time, but he manages to point the head of his cock at the open neck of the whiskey bottle just as the first jet of thick Alpha seed spurts from his slit. He holds it there for the entirely of his orgasm, never taking his eyes off of it so that he gets as much seed inside the bottle as he can. It's still messy work, though, a bit of come getting on his hand and the sheets instead, but by the time his orgasm is over, he believes enough got inside that it doesn't matter.

"There you go, Sheriff," Peter pants. "A little gift for you."

He holds the bottle up at eye level so that he can watch as he swirls the liquid around and the white of his come mixes with the golden-brown of the whiskey. The end result is something slightly cloudy, but it's subtle enough that John shouldn't notice until it's far too late.

With all of the pieces now in place, Peter screws the cap back on the whiskey, puts his clothes on again and exits the bedroom. He returns the whiskey to the liquor cabinet and leaves the house with a spring in his step and a jaunty tune in his head, already impatient for John to go through his metamorphosis.

Fuck, it's going to be amazing.

* * *

Two long days later, Peter can sense that it's done. After he has got washed and dressed in the morning, he gets in his expensive car and drives straight over to his new omega's house, ready to complete their bond by plugging the Sheriff up with his knot and then pumping him full of come. He arrives at his destination to find the Sheriff's cruiser parked in the driveway, so he gets out of his own car, walks up to the front door and again uses Stiles' keys to get inside.

"Oh Sheriff!" he calls out melodiously, already hard in his jeans. "Your Alpha's here!"

Following his nose, Peter walks upstairs to the bedroom, from which he can smell the scents of sweat, sex and frustration.

Excellent.

Peter pushes open the door and steps inside, expecting to be met by his new bitch all wet and eager for him. But instead he's met with the barrel of a gun.

"Well, well, well," Peter says, tilting his head to the side as he takes in the state of the Sheriff. "I knew you'd be sexy beneath that uniform."

Sheriff Stilinski stands in front of him in nothing but a pair of hideous baggy boxers that Peter will be getting rid of at the first opportunity. Despite his age, John's physique is impressive—not as much as Peter's, but as a werewolf with an incredibly fast metabolism, he has an unfair advantage. Even with the gun barrel still pointed right between his eyes, Peter drinks in every inch of tanned flesh that's exposed to him, every fine brown hair that dusts the Sheriff's broad chest and flat but soft belly. It all serves to make him even more aroused, to the point where he's sure his cock will break his zipper if he doesn't get it out in the next few minutes.

"Damn you," the Sheriff grits out, still sweating even though his transformation is complete. "I ought to kill you right now."

Peter chuckles and spreads his arms out at his sides. "By all means. Go right ahead."

He knows he's not in any danger. As much as what remains of John's human mind may want him dead, he's incapable of doing it himself now. The omega has taken over, and for the rest of his life, John will never lift a finger to harm his Alpha.

A long minute passes, during which Peter and John have their staring contest, and then John drops his arm and the gun hits the hardwood floor.

"I hate you…" he says, bowing his head. "I hate you so damn much."

"No, you don't," Peter rebuts. He kicks the gun aside, closes the remaining distance between them and fists his hand in the hair on the back of John's head. He pulls hard, forcing the Sheriff to look at him again. "You need me now. Don't you?"

John's lips wobble as he tries to hold back the words, but it's futile. "Yes!" he cries breathlessly. "I'm so fucking uncomfortable."

"Let me take care of you then, sweetheart," Peter soothes, brushing his nose along the underside of John's stubbly jaw.

"Oh God…"

"Shh, your Alpha's here. I'll give your greedy ass what it needs."

Once he has breathed in his fill of John's scent and found it slightly sweeter now that he's an omega, Peter pushes him back toward the bed. He's glad when he notices that the sheets are the same ones he'd lain on two days ago. There's even a small stain near the end of the bed from when some of his come missed the whiskey bottle.

"Just lie back," Peter commands, giving John a light shove.

The omega falls backward onto the mattress, his legs splayed and his arms thrown above his head. Peter takes off John's boxers, rips the ugly fabric apart and tosses the scraps aside. He takes off his own clothes and thinks that this is much better than it was last time. Now he has John in the bed too. He climbs on top of the other man and insinuates himself between John's legs, which wrap seemingly of their own accord around his hips.

"I can smell how wet you are for me," Peter says, planting his hands on either side of John's head.

"I've been like this for hours…" John complains, his eyelids fluttering as Peter grinds their cocks together. "It's been awful."

Peter makes a noise of sympathy. "I bet."

"Please…" John implores.

"Please, what?"

"I need— I need it to stop!"

Peter licks a stripe up the side of John's face, from his jaw to his hairline, and tastes the salt of his sweat. Delectable.

"You need me to fill you up with my big Alpha cock?" he asks, looking between their bodies. He's impressed with the size of John's arousal, but he still has about an inch on him and plenty of girth.

"Yes!" John gasps, fisting his hands in the sheets above his head. "Please!"

Peter coos at him. "There's a good bitch, asking me so nicely. Alright, I'll give us what we both want."

Reaching for his cock, Peter shifts back slightly so that he can slip the head behind John's balls and find his waiting hole. When he's in place, he thrusts forward slowly but unremittingly, carving out a place for himself inside of his omega's body. John's hole opens right up for him but still ends up clamped tight around Peter's cock like it wants to keep him there.

Peter has no problem with that. He sets up a fast pace, enjoying John's warmth. It's everything he imagined it would be and more. John really will make the best bitch. He already is, lying there so docilely and letting his Alpha have his way with him. To reward him for being so good, Peter adjusts the angle of his thrusts until John throws his head back and releases a guttural wail.

"Ah, there it is," Peter says smugly. "Found your prostate."

He maintains that angle from then on, and it doesn't take long for John's muscles to seize up beneath him. The Sheriff paints both of them with his omega seed, which won't knock anyone up anymore.

With his omega taken care of, Peter focuses on his own orgasm. The scent of John's release is enough to have his knot forming about thirty seconds later, meaning that it becomes harder for him to hilt himself all the way inside of John's body. To combat this, he increases the force behind his thrusts until he's exerting himself so much that he's the one sweating now. It's worth the effort, though, especially when he pops his knot inside his bitch's body one last time and it engorges the rest of the way, tying them together and making John his official omega.

Peter collapses atop the bitch and breathes into his neck as he recovers.

"You're heavy," John complains, trapped beneath him.

"Get used to it. I'm gonna be on top of you _a lot_."

A couple minutes later, Peter manoeuvres their bodies so that he's spooned up behind John. "Feel better?" he enquires.

John nods and responds with a sleepy, "Yes."

"Get some sleep. When you wake up, we'll go see my nephew and convince him to have some fun with us and your son."

John makes a noise of confusion but obeys his Alpha's will nevertheless, his body going lax as he drifts off.

Peter stays awake for a while longer, thinking as he enjoys the feeling of his knot still swollen inside of his bitch's hole. God, is he looking forward to later, to further convincing Derek to give into what he's certain they both want. Derek would never have let Peter touch him like he did in the bar if he wasn't interested in Peter somewhere deep down.

All Peter has to do is tap into the buried curiosity.

Some may call him greedy. He already had an omega in the past, whom he lost to the fire that took out most of his and Derek's family, and now he finally has another one in the form of John Stilinski. That would be enough for most werewolves, but not for Peter. No, he wants more. He has secretly lusted after his nephew ever since Derek hit puberty, and now he thinks that the other Alpha is finally ready. Maybe they can turn themselves into a little unit of four. Nephew and Uncle, Father and Son.

Soon, Peter tells himself, shutting his eyes. He falls asleep with a grin on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLAYLIST** :  
>  Mother's Daughter - Miley Cyrus  
>  Never Really Over - Katy Perry  
>  Started - Iggy Azalea

Derek sits naked in his living room with the TV on and a cold wolfsbane-laced beer in his hand. He isn't watching the cop drama that's playing. Most of his focus is between his legs, where his bitch kneels on the floor with his Alpha's cock in his mouth. Stiles is so pretty down there, his lips swollen and shiny and stretched around Derek's girth, considerable even though he's flaccid. It's a great way to pass the few hours Derek has before bed. His gaze never leaves Stiles' face. He's fascinated by the pure bliss he sees there, the omega's eyes closed contentedly as if he also couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend his time.

After a while longer of this, Derek takes another sip of his beer just as a vehicle pulls up outside the house. "Who the hell would be here this late?" he wonders aloud, catching Stiles' attention. The bitch opens his eyes and peers blearily up at him.

Derek frowns at the window to his left, although he can't see outside because the curtains are closed. A few seconds later, the sounds of two car doors opening and slamming shut reach his ears, followed by footsteps up to the front door. Derek expects whoever his unwanted visitor is to knock, but that's not what happens. Instead, they stick a key in the lock and open the door themselves.

Ah. Derek now knows who's here. There's only one other person in the world who has a key to his house—his last living family by blood.

Great.

"What do you want, Peter?" Derek calls, craning his head around so that he can see into the foyer just as the front door clicks shut.

"To show you my new pet," Peter replies as he saunters into the living room. He's dressed in a pair of jeans and a ridiculously tight white henley that clings to his muscles. In his hand he carries a black duffel bag filled with God knows what, and behind him trails John Stilinski, who wears nothing.

"You did it, then," Derek observes. Seeing him in this light, he has to admit that John is a catch. It makes sense given that he fathered Stiles—the prettiest bitch in town, in Derek's opinion.

"Yup. I slipped some of my come into his whiskey, which he's been drinking _a lot_ of lately. He missed his son, the poor thing." Peter drops the duffle bag to the floor and strokes a hand down the side of John's face. "Well, look who's right over there, _Sheriff_." He speaks the title with a mocking lilt.

John peers over at Derek and Stiles, and his eyes widen when he sees his son still keeping Derek's cock warm.

"They're quite the pair, aren't they?" Peter asks his omega. "Can you see what a nice bitch your son makes?"

John nods slowly, apparently transfixed.

"Did you just come over to tell me you got him off my back, or was there something else?" Derek questions, impatient to get back to his peace and quiet.

"Actually, there _was_ something else…" Peter says with a smirk.

"Well? What is it?"

Peter takes in his nephew's toned body with avid appreciation and comes to a stop with his gaze on Stiles, who blinks back at him. "Why don't you let go of your Alpha's frankly _gorgeous_ cock and come say hello to your dad? It's been a while since you last saw each other, after all. It's only nice."

Derek frowns. "What're you doing?"

"You'll see." Peter huffs when Stiles doesn't move. The command wasn't given by his own Alpha. "Tell him to listen to me."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Please? For your favourite Uncle?" Peter transforms his smirk into an innocent smile.

Derek scowls. "You're my _only_ Uncle, and even then I'm not sure I'd call you my favourite."

"Please. You love me."

"Debatable."

Peter clutches a hand to his chest and gasps dramatically. "I'm hurt!"

"Yeah, sure you are."

"C'mon, admit you love me."

"No."

"But I love you," Peter whines obnoxiously.

"Then what's with you always purposefully annoying the fuck out of me?"

"That's just how I show my love."

Derek is already exasperated, but he doesn't outright deny that he has love for his uncle. It's true, but it's easier not to show it, lest the true form of said love be revealed.

"Anyway, enough of that," Peter says, dropping his act. "Just tell him to listen to me and you'll like it. I promise."

Derek would prefer not to command his bitch to stop warming his cock, but for now he doesn't see the harm in going along with whatever little game Peter wants them to play. He looks down at Stiles and with a flash of his eyes tells him to let go of his soft cock. The omega complies immediately, but he doesn't seem happy about it. Derek can relate, already missing the warmth of Stiles' mouth around him, but he still plays along.

"You'll obey Peter as if he were me," Derek tells his bitch seriously. "Got it?"

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answers, licking his lips.

"Then come over here and say hello to your dad," Peter repeats, gesturing to where the Sheriff has been standing patiently through all of this.

Stiles gets to his feet and walks over to Peter and his dad, his cock hard and bobbing with each step. When he reaches the two older men, he meets his dad's gaze and Derek can sense the happiness in both of them, even though neither shows it much on the outside. They're omegas, yes, which means their top priority will always be to gratify their Alphas in whichever way their Alphas desire, but they still possess all of their memories and emotions.

It's clear that father and son are glad to be in each other's presence again, and their bonds with their respective Alphas preclude any negative feelings about the circumstances that brought them here. They're with family and their Alphas. No one could create a better recipe for a happy omega.

"Well?" Peter prompts, cocking his head to the side. "Aren't you going to greet each other properly?"

John glances at his Alpha before returning his attention to Stiles. "Hi, Son."

"Hey, Dad," Stiles responds, his lips curling into a smile. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as he holds himself back from hugging the older man.

"That's not a proper greeting," Peter says disappointedly. He taps his index finger against his chin.

Derek arches an eyebrow at him. "It's not?"

"No."

"Then what is?"

Peter doesn't acknowledge the question directly, but he still provides an answer by stepping up next to John and Stiles and putting a hand on the backs of their necks.

"From now on," he begins, the mischief in his blue eyes making then shine, "whenever you two see each other, you'll greet each other with a kiss. And not just any ordinary kiss…"

Oh. Derek should've seen this coming, he supposes. In hindsight, it's obvious. He should offer a protest at the mere idea of someone else kissing Stiles, even if it's another omega, but he doesn't. The possessive instinct lingers in the back of his mind, but it's not pressing. The taboo of Stiles making out with his Dad is too much to resist, so he permits the proceedings to go on.

John looks with shock at Peter. "Alpha?"

"You heard me," Peter says. "Do it. I want to see."

Powerless to disobey a direct order from his Alpha—and Stiles unable to ignore one from Peter now that Derek told him to obey the eldest Hale—John closes the remaining distance between him and his son and replaces Peter's hand around the back of Stiles' neck. Both of the omegas are wary, the wrongness of it all likely screaming in their heads, but John still brings their lips together.

It's nothing to write home about at first, apart from the fact that it's a father kissing his son. But after a few seconds and a pointed cough from Peter, both John and Stiles part their lips and bring their tongues into play. That's when it really gets interesting. Their cocks are both hard now, and the pleasurable sensation of rubbing off against one another must take over because they each grind up on each other with enthusiasm right before Derek's eyes.

"Fuck…" the Alpha gapes, his own cock taking an interest. It rapidly fills with blood, and he strokes it absentmindedly, unable to tear his gaze away from Stiles and John kissing and groping each other.

Peter's smirk is wide. "It's hot, right?"

Derek nods jerkily. "Yeah."

"I told you you'd like it."

"I guess you were right for once."

"You know what else I'm right about?"

Still looking at the two omegas, Derek shakes his head. "No."

"I'm right about you and I." Peter moves around John and Stiles so that he's stood between Derek's parted knees. "What d'you say, Nephew? Wanna take your dear Alpha uncle for a test drive?"

This suggestion is what diverts Derek's focus from the omegas and back to his uncle. He observes Peter for a few seconds while he ruminates on the answer he'll be giving.

On the one hand, he'd like to say no just to deny Peter something he obviously wants badly; Peter's face falling would be amusing to see.

On the other hand, though, picturing himself together with another Alpha—and not just any Alpha, but his uncle—causes Derek's cock to get impossibly harder in his grip, a bead of pre-come dribbling down the shaft to pool against his hand. He hates it, but Peter is right about this as well—Derek _is_ curious.

If Derek looks down deep inside of himself, he can recall instances from the past in which he caught himself staring at his uncle in ways that were distinctly not familial. Peter used to aggravate the shit out of him even back then— _especially_ back then, in fact—but Derek still used to look.

A memory of a family trip to the beach returns to him. It was about a year before the fire that killed his Dad, his Dad's omega, his two sisters and Peter's first omega. The Hales encountered another family of werewolves at the beach and engaged in a very heated game of volleyball. It seemed like a lot of fun, but Derek sat it out because he was too busy being a surly teenager who thought it was lame to actually enjoy spending time around his family. Pathetic looking back on it now, but Derek got something out it at the time too—he got to stare surreptitiously at Uncle Peter as he got all hot and sweaty, diving this way and that to volley the ball back over to the opposing team.

That was all that came of it, though. Just some staring. Derek had been halfway through jerking off that very night when the guilt of what he was doing caught up to him and made his erection flag. He must have repressed that memory afterward, and all of the others, and they've only begun to come back to him recently, ever since Peter touched him in the bar.

And now Peter is suggesting the very thing Derek had been fantasising about back then. Fuck, does Derek want him.

But it'll be done on his terms. He'll finally show his uncle his place.

"Fine," Derek assents. He pushes Peter away with his foot and stands.

"I knew you'd see reason," Peter says smugly, reaching for the hem of his henley.

Derek wears a bored expression as his uncle strips out of his clothes. Peter's body isn't unfamiliar to him, but he hasn't allowed himself to really look at it since that day on the beach. He indulges himself now, stroking himself as he runs his eyes over Peter's well-defined abs, his dusky nipples, the fine hairs dusting his sculpted chest. Fuck, even the hair on Peter's arms turns Derek on. He thinks it's a pity that someone so handsome is such an asshole, but that's just how it goes sometimes.

"Wanna see more?" Peter asks, still smirking with his hands poised to undo his jeans.

"I think we both know the answer to that," Derek replies, his cock throbbing in his hand.

"Good. You're in for a treat."

Now, _this_ is a part of Peter's body that Derek has never seen. The anticipation builds to nearly unbearable levels as Peter slips the button through the placket and pulls down the zipper, at which point Derek discovers that his predilection for going commando must run in the family.

The first thing he notes is that his uncle also isn't one to bother trimming his pubes, preferring to be au natural. He approves and continues to watch as Peter moves his hands to the waistband of his jeans and slowly pushes them down his hairy, muscular legs. A few seconds later, Peter kicks the jeans aside and then waits there with his arms at his sides so that his nephew can drink in the rest of him.

Peter's cock sticks out long and thick from the nest of brown curls at the base, complete with large, low-hanging balls below. While a bit smaller than Derek's, Peter's cock is by no means something to scoff at. Derek guesses that it's around eight inches, maybe slightly more. His mouth waters as the impulse to taste it floods his whole being, but he doesn't give into it. No, if any Alpha is going to be sucking cock tonight, it's going to be Peter sucking his.

"Turn around," he says, his voice a gravelly rasp.

Peter does so, presenting his nephew with his back. Like the rest of him, muscles ripple beneath his skin with each movement, each breath. Derek goes down the dip of Peter's spine, to the two dimples on either side of the base, to Peter's ass. Like his chest, it's hairy, and the globes are generous and round. Derek can imagine sliding his cock inside of the hole that's concealed between them, and it's this thought that has him getting things moving with more speed. He doesn't want to wait any longer. He _can't_ wait. He has to do it before he combusts from too much arousal.

"We're going up to the bedroom," he says.

Peter turns back around and grins, displaying teeth that are too sharp to be entirely human. "Excellent."

Derek picks up the duffel bag his uncle brought to the house. He's stunned by its weight. "What the hell do you have in here?"

"Sex toys."

Derek gapes. "Did you buy out an entire sex shop?!"

"I wanted to be prepared for anything."

"Did you buy all of them specifically for tonight?"

"No."

With that mysterious answer, Derek drops this line of questioning. He doesn't want to know. He approaches Stiles and John, who still have their lips locked, the wet smacking sounds filling the room.

"That's enough!" he barks, causing the omegas to leap apart.

Horror appears on Stiles and John's faces, but Derek doesn't care. They'll get over it soon, and their persistent erections are signs that they're already on their way.

"Get upstairs. Master bedroom," Derek orders.

Stiles grabs his Dad's hand and drags him from the room. In the few seconds their backs are turned and before they vanish from sight, Derek spots the clear fluid dripping down the backs of their thighs, yet another sign that they both enjoyed kissing each other. Perhaps there was an underlying hint of incestuous want between them before they were turned, similar to Derek and Peter.

Derek breezes past Peter, acting as unaffected by his uncle's nudity as possible. "C'mon, let's go up too."

The ascent to the first floor hallway takes both an age and mere seconds, and then Derek enters his bedroom with Peter at his back. Stiles and John await them, neither sure what to do with themselves without their Alphas to tell them.

"Alright, I guess let's see what you've got stashed in here, Uncle," Derek says, dumping the duffel bag on the foot of his bed.

"Prepare to be amazed." Peter winks. "I really did pack for every eventuality and kink."

Unzipping the bag, Derek pulls the opening apart and his brain shuts down as he gets his first look at the contents. Dozens and dozens of toys and pieces of fetish gear are inside. Derek doesn't even know the purpose of some of it, but he trusts that his uncle won't hesitate to fill him in.

"You like?" Peter asks, standing beside Derek, his Alpha musk strong.

"I don't know what to think right now…"

"You'll figure it out."

Derek dares to reach inside the bag and extract a few of the toys he recognises—dildos of varying sizes and colours, some of them human and others with inflatable knots at the bases; butt plugs; anal beads; handcuffs, padded but sturdy; prostate massagers; and finally, a huge bottle of lube.

"Don't get too overwhelmed, Nephew," Peter says, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll have plenty of time to get to know the ins and outs of the rest of this stuff."

Derek doesn't argue. He's intrigued by the strange items he left inside the duffel, even the things that look like they could be torture devices. For tonight, he spreads the safer toys out across the foot of the bed and shoves the bag beneath the bed frame so that it's out of the way. Once that's done, he takes a step back and looks over all the toys, pondering where on earth he should start.

As if reading his mind, Peter chooses that moment to pipe up again. "If I can share an idea."

Derek waves a hand as if to say, "Get on with it."

"To keep our lovely omegas busy while we play with each other, we could have them use…" Peter picks up a double-ended dildo, long and made of black silicone. "This."

Derek shrugs. "Sure. That could work."

Satisfied, Peter gets Stiles and John to climb onto the bed near the pillows and get onto their hands and knees, their rear ends pointed at each other. When they're in position, Peter and Derek kneel beside them. Derek takes the dildo from his uncle, squirts some lube out onto his palm and slicks up the toy. It takes a minute because it's so long, but he perseveres and lets Peter take hold of one end of it when he's done. Stiles and John watch the whole time, more slick dripping from their bodies at the prospect of being filled up, even by a fake cock.

Together, Derek and Peter aim both ends of the dildo at their bitches' needy holes, and on a silent signal, they put their free hands on their respective omega's shoulder and ease them back onto the toy until it's been swallowed up entirely, John's ass resting against Stiles'.

"So fucking dirty," Derek moans. He ruffles Stiles' hair like he's petting an obedient dog.

"Right?" Peter agrees.

"While I'm busy with Peter," Derek says to both omegas, "I want you to fuck yourselves on that dildo. Don't stop, not even if you come. Let's see how many orgasms you can have before I'm done."

With the omegas taken care of for now, Derek fixes his attention on Peter and feels the renewed urge to wipe his seemingly ever-present smirk from his face.

"So, how would my dear nephew like to kick things off?" Peter waggles his eyebrows.

"I already know."

"Do tell."

In the flash, Derek has a clawed hand wrapped around his uncle's neck, exerting just enough pressure for the older man to feel a sense of danger. Derek has no intention of actually strangling Peter, but he gets satisfaction out of the way Peter's face clears of all smugness and guile, a rarity. Instead, the other Alpha's mouth hangs open and his pupils dilate, too turned on to maintain his usual front.

"Since you loved touching my cock so much back in the bar, I'm gonna stick it all the way back into your throat so that you're choking on it," Derek says, his eyes glowing a constant red. "Sound good?"

Peter attempts to speak, but Derek tightens his hand even further and all that comes out is a gurgling sound. The younger Hale grins. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

Before Peter can regain control of himself and possibly fight to get out of his nephew's hold, Derek shoves him backward so that he topples over the side of the bed and hits the floor with a loud thump. He checks briefly that Stiles and John are still fucking themselves on the double-ended dildo—they are, their ass cheeks slapping together because they're each so lost in their own pleasure—and then he climbs gracefully off of the bed just in time for Peter to rise up onto his knees.

It's just the position Derek was looking for. "Open wide," he orders, fisting one hand in the hair on top of Peter's head.

Peter has defiance in his eyes, but his attraction to Derek's cock must be enough to overcome this. He acquiesces, his lips parting, and Derek wastes no more time.

He thrusts forward right away, almost hilting his entire length. Only a couple inches remain exposed, and Peter gags as the head suddenly hits the back of his throat. Derek pulls out and fucks his mouth hard, not giving his uncle a chance to recover. His swollen balls swing between his hairy thighs. They smack against the underside of Peter's chin every time he fucks all the way inside Peter's welcoming mouth. It's just like fucking Stiles' face.

Actually, Derek muses as he looks down at his uncle, it might be even better.

Peter glares up at him with his irises also coloured a bright red. Such obvious proof that it's another Alpha he's using sends tingles down Derek's spine. He doesn't let up for a long time, splitting his attention between Peter and the two omegas on his bed. He gets a real thrill when he hears the squeal that means Stiles has orgasmed, a sound he is very much used to hearing by now. It's closely followed by a guttural man from John as he plunges over the edge of the cliff after his son.

"You hear that?" Derek pants down to his uncle. "That's orgasm number one for both of them."

Peter obviously can't say anything back. Derek likes him better this way.

After a while, things really start to get messy. Peter's face becomes red and splotchy, his eyes glisten with unshed tears, and a mixture of spit and pre-come runs down his chin and drips onto his chest. He's only able to suck in short doses of oxygen before Derek plunges his cock back inside his throat and cuts off his air supply. It's just enough to prevent him from passing out but not enough to really be comfortable. Even with all of this, Peter does nothing more than place his hands on Derek's thighs to hold on for the ride.

Eventually, Derek tires of just using Peter's face. He wants to use his ass too, so he fucks Peter's mouth for a few more seconds before pushing him away.

"Back on the bed," he orders, wiping sweat from his brow.

"You're feeling aggressive tonight, Nephew," Peter comments, his voice rough. He climbs back onto the king-size mattress.

"That's what you get for taunting me so much."

"I'll have to do it more often then."

 _If he can still banter like this, I'm obviously not doing a good enough job,_ Derek thinks. His eyes alight on the padded cuffs still on the bed. He snaps them up, and a weird sensation spreads out from his palms that he hadn't noticed the last time he handled them.

"What's up with these?" he asks.

"They're spelled," Peter explains gleefully. "With them on, a werewolf's strength is sapped so they're no stronger than a newborn puppy."

It sounds perfect to Derek.

He shares a meaningful glance with Peter before unceremoniously flipping him over onto his front. Peter goes willingly, even as Derek twists his arms behind his back and fastens the cuffs around his wrists, restraining him. If what Peter said was true, then there's no way he'll be able to break free of the cuffs without Derek or one of the omegas to help him, and Derek isn't about to let that happen. Not until he's fucked Peter into a state of compliance. How long that state will last is another matter, but that just means he'll have to do it over and over again.

With his uncle now essentially helpless, Derek leaves him there for the time being and checks in with his bitch and John. There are already sizeable stains on the sheets beneath each of them, created by their useless omega seed. Derek will definitely have to stick his bedding in the washing machine when this is all over. But then, he knew that coming into this.

Derek moves over to the omegas and tells them to stop fucking themselves on the dildo earlier than originally planned. They cease their avid movements immediately, ending up with their asses touching so that the dildo stays buried deep inside both of them at once. It's a hot sight that Derek lingers on for a moment or two, and then he instructs them to separate. The double-ended dildo flops out of their holes onto the bedding, and Derek tosses it aside without caring where on his bedroom floor it lands; he'll find and wash it in the morning.

"Alright, I've got new plans for you two," Derek informs the omegas. He cups their cheeks. "Wanna know what they are?"

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles says, leaning into Derek's palm.

"Good. You stay right where you are for now." Derek focuses on John instead. "You see your Alpha?"

John flicks his gaze over to Peter and back to Derek again. He nods.

"I want you to get beneath him on your back and put his cock inside your hole," Derek says. His words are met with moans from all three of the others, though Peter's is slightly muffled. "He's gonna fuck you while I fuck him."

In takes some manoeuvring, but John insinuates himself beneath his restrained Alpha and gets Peter's cock in his ass. This means that Peter's ass is raised slightly, as if Derek had put a pillow beneath his hips, and his head comes to rest on John's chest, his breath fanning out over one of John's nipples. The omega curls his legs around Peter's waist at first, but Derek knocks them away.

"No. You need to leave room for me to fuck him," the Alpha chides.

"Oh. Sorry, Alpha," John murmurs, resting his feet on the mattress instead.

"That's better."

"What do I do?" Stiles enquires, genuinely curious.

"I'm glad you asked. You're gonna sit on your Dad's face and he's gonna eat you out. Got it?"

Again, a hint of revulsion appears in Stiles' countenance, but it fades quicker than it had after he stopped kissing his Dad downstairs. He must be only a few more pushes away from hopping aboard the incest train for good.

After Stiles has moved where he was told, all's quiet for a few seconds and then quiet slurping sounds reach Derek's ears. He leans around Stiles and grins when he sees that John has begun to rim his son, his tongue gliding over Stiles' hole to collect Stiles' slick. He has to pause to swallow often, but he resumes his messy rimming each time without having to be instructed to. From the pleasure on Stiles' face, his Dad must be doing a decent job.

"Alright…" Derek murmurs, situating himself behind Peter again.

The other Alpha's elevated state means that his legs are already parted, providing just enough space for Derek to fit comfortably. The other three make quite the vision—Peter, restrained and powerless, and Stiles riding his Dad's tongue, his little omega cock and balls hanging in the air just above Peter's head. This last aspect gives Derek another idea, but it'll have to wait until later. For now, he runs a finger from the back of Peter's neck down along his spine, over his bound hands, and toward the ass that had fascinated him downstairs. Derek really wants to play with it, to see how different it is to fuck another Alpha who doesn't self-lubricate or open up easily for a nice big cock.

There's only one way to find out.

Fitting his hands over each of Peter's ass cheeks, Derek enjoys their firmness. There's a tiny bit of give, but most of it's pure muscle. The fine hairs tickle his palms, and when he spreads the cheeks apart, Derek discovers that more hair surrounds Peter's little pucker. God, it looks so tight, and…tasty?

Derek is no stranger to giving a good rimjob, so he dives in with alacrity. It's weird at first, is different than what he's used to. There's no sweet taste, no viscous slick to drink down, just dry, slightly tangy skin. It's not bad, though, so Derek keeps going, swirling his tongue around his uncle's rim and prodding lightly at it with the tip in an effort to get it to loosen.

"Nephew…" Peter rasps, beginning to gyrate his hips. He pushes back onto Derek's tongue and then forward into the welcoming warmth of John's body.

"Shut up," Derek says sternly.

He gives Peter's ass a hard spank, holding none of his strength back. Peter cries out but goes quiet afterward, and Derek gets a nice glimpse of his red handprint before Peter's advanced healing rate kicks in and the mark disappears again.

For a couple more minutes, Derek tastes his uncle's hole and then decides that he has denied himself long enough. His cock aches, coloured a deep red. It weeps pre-come and the base throbs, his knot demanding that he move things along before it's too late and it pops out in the open air, with no hole to tie with. That would be a crying shame, so Derek searches for the lube he got out of Peter's duffel bag earlier and squirts some out right onto Peter's hole.

The other Alpha jolts at the sudden coldness. "You could'a warned a guy," he grumbles.

Derek rolls his eyes and poises the tip of his finger at Peter's entrance. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Not allowing his uncle a chance to say something else, Derek slides his finger up to the last knuckle in Peter's hole. It goes in with surprising ease—not as easily as it would with an omega's hole, but the glide is smoother than Derek thought it would be.

It's then that he remembers Peter mentioning that he has messed around with other Alphas in the past, meaning that he has probably had a lot of things in him before. Hell, Derek had assumed that the toys Peter brought with him to the house were solely for use on an omega, but now that he thinks about it again, he realises that some of them have probably been in Peter's ass too. He nods to himself, finding the thought of his uncle fucking himself on a dildo incredibly arousing. He'll have to get Peter to put on a show for him sometime. The other Alpha won't have an issue with that. After all, it's common knowledge in the bar that Peter Hale is one hell of an exhibitionist.

Satisfied with the hastily made plans for next time, Derek thrusts his finger in and out a few times before inserting a second and scissoring them apart. It's more work than he has to do with Stiles' hole, but it's worth it when he fits a third finger inside and withdraws all of them to see Peter's little asshole all stretched out and slick, just waiting to be filled. The hair around it is matted down with lube in a messy whorl. Derek never thought he'd like a hairy ass, but he could get used to this.

Without warning him, Derek slicks himself up and pushes his cock inside his uncle's hole inch by unerring inch. He feels Peter tense up beneath him for a moment, but the older Alpha breathes deeply and forces his body to relax as Derek just keeps going. It's a tight squeeze, and Derek wonders when he's nearly all the way in if he should have used a fourth finger too. But when he's fully sheathed in Uncle Peter's body, he concludes that, no, he was right to use just three. The increased tightness feels amazing around his cock, squeezes him just right.

"I knew it," Peter gasps, shifting in place atop John.

Derek smacks his ass again. "What?"

"You _are_ bigger than your Dad. Damn, you're in me so fucking deep."

Derek puffs out his chest, taking the comment as a compliment on his prowess as an Alpha. "I'm not gonna hold anything back," he warns.

Peter nods into John's chest. "Do it."

Boy, does Derek ever.

He starts up a fast pace, pulling out so far that only the head of his cock remains in Peter's hole before thrusting forward again, filling his uncle back up. It's nothing short of amazing. Derek grips Peter's hips as he enjoys himself, chasing his own pleasure without a care for anyone else in the room. He doesn't need to worry about them anyway. Peter releases deep rumbly groans that match John's, and Stiles still seems like he's content to sit on his Dad's face.

As sweat beads on his brow, Derek transfers one hand to Peter's wrists and uses them to pull him back into his cock with each thrust. The result is lewd slapping sounds filling the room, Peter's ass cheeks rippling every time Derek's pelvis smacks into them.

With how sexy all of this stimuli is, it doesn't take very long for Derek to feel his knot swelling up.

"Fuck!" Peter shouts.

"You feel that?" Derek asks, having to work harder to fuck all the way inside his uncle's body.

"Yes!"

"Gonna knot your smug ass…make it mine!"

Derek can't say where the possessive declaration comes from, but he doesn't retract it. It feels right. Peter is his—his blood, and now his second bitch. An Alpha bitch…damn, that's a deliciously naughty contradiction.

"Please…" Peter whines.

"Yeah, you want that? You gonna be a good bitch for me?!"

This question has Peter shuddering atop John, his hands clenching into fists and his hole getting impossibly tighter around Derek's cock. Derek theorises that Peter must be knotting John too, and it's this realisation that leads to his own knot swelling the rest of the way and his orgasm crashing into him. He fucks inside of Peter's body one final time, his knot going in with an obscene pop, and then he collapses stop Peter as he fills him with his thick Alpha seed. The combined weight of two Alphas must be crushing John, but he doesn't move. John's a big guy; he can take it.

When his orgasm isn't so all-consuming, Derek picks himself up and winds his fingers in the hair on the back of Peter's head to carry out one of the ideas he'd come up with earlier. He yanks it back hard, tilting Peter's face upward.

"Stiles?" Derek calls.

"Y-yes, Alpha?"

"Jerk yourself off. I want you to come all over Peter's face. John, help him out."

A minute later, with the aid of his Dad's tongue in his ass, thin seed spurts from the tip of Stiles' cock, his hand a blur as he masturbates. The seed splatters across Peter's cheeks, nose and forehead, and then it drips down to his lips and chin.

Once it's over, Derek has Stiles climb off of his Dad's face and releases Peter's hair. "Kiss," he directs. "Give the Sheriff a taste of his own son's load."

The sight of John and Peter making out, of John even going so far as to lick Stiles' release from his Alpha's cheeks, has Derek pumping a few more spurts of come inside his uncle's ass. He moans and grinds against Peter's cheeks until it passes, and then he settles in to wait for his and Peter's knots to go back down. It takes about fifteen minutes for that to happen, during which time Derek lies back on top of his uncle and breathes in the combined scents of everyone's sweat and come.

It's a good smell.

With some reluctance, when his knot has shrunk enough, Derek slips from Peter's body and falls back on his ass, his arms braced behind him.

"Stiles, I've got another job for you," Derek says, rousing the omega from where he'd been lying tiredly up near the pillows.

Stiles lifts his head. "Alpha?"

"Come over here."

Stiles' movements are slow and uncoordinated because of the many orgasms he has had tonight, but he makes it to Derek's side.

"See that?" Derek points to Peter's asshole, where his seed is dripping out.

Stiles licks his lips. "Yes, Alpha."

"Clean him up."

The omega doesn't need to be told twice. Derek didn't think he would be, not when he's being rewarded with a taste of his Alpha's delicious come. Derek watches with an emotion akin to fondness as Stiles eats Peter out for all he's worth and laps up his seed, drinking it down like it's ambrosia. Peter moans sleepily with his face turned into John's neck the entire time, goosebumps appearing on his arms still bound behind his back. His knot must have gone down by now too, but he doesn't seem to have any plans to withdraw from his bitch's hole anytime soon. Derek can't blame him.

Stiles gives Peter's rim a few last kittenish licks and then sits back, his task completed. Peter's hole is left loose, but it's no longer sloppy with come and lube.

"Good boy," Derek says, patting Stiles on the head.

"Thank you, Alpha."

It takes a while longer for Peter to rouse, at which point Derek finally removes the cuffs. The older Alpha grunts with discomfort as he rolls off of John and stretches his arms in the air above him, working out the soreness in his muscles.

Derek has a little pity for him. "You okay?"

Peter's lips curl up into his signature smirk, but it's not as infuriating as it usually is. "I'm awesome. You definitely know how to use that cock of yours, Nephew."

Derek harrumphs. "Of course I do."

"I never doubted you."

"Good."

"Now I could use a good night's sleep. You don't mind if we crash here, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Peter turns over onto his side and throws an arm over John's stomach, snuggling into his side.

Derek sighs. "I guess not."

He glances in the direction of the en suite bathroom, contemplating whether he has enough energy or willpower to take a shower before he rests too. In the end, he shrugs and figures they'll all shower in the morning. The stall is big enough for all four of them anyway, with several shower heads.

Derek observes Peter and John, trying to determine the best way to settle down himself. He comes up with it swiftly.

"Stiles, lie down next to your Dad," he says. He waits until the bitch is in place, his position a mirror of Peter's, before spooning up behind him. The sheets are trapped beneath their bodies, but the heat of four people is enough to keep the room warm and toasty.

"Alpha?" comes Stiles quiet voice, just as Derek is getting close to drifting off.

"Yeah?"

Stiles doesn't speak again for a while, long enough that Derek guesses he accidentally fell asleep before he could ask whatever he wanted to ask. But then Derek hears his voice again:

"Can they stay forever?" the omega whispers. The question is both wary and hopeful.

Derek hums. "We'll talk about it more in the morning, okay?"

"Okay."

With that sorted, Derek fidgets a bit to better mould his front to Stiles' back, and then he's out, feeling like he's right where he's meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, the speed at which this conclusion flowed from my fingertips was quite honestly alarming. I actually wrote over 4,000 words of this over the course of a single day, which is a rate I hadn't managed to achieve for several months prior. I'm impressed with myself, I have to say. I suppose that's just what happens when what you're writing about captures your interest so much. It didn't let go until I was finished. I hope you guys all enjoyed this final part, and that the wait was worth it. Most of you were definitely on board with the foursome, so let me know if it lived up to your expectations.
> 
> Stay tuned for my next PWP, in which Stiles and Derek encounter a tentacle monster in the preserve.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. And please check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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